


It Felt Like Burning

by 13thDoctor, JHarkness



Series: The Stars Had Aligned [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 05:48:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5485892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thDoctor/pseuds/13thDoctor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JHarkness/pseuds/JHarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five times Poe kissed Finn, and the one time Finn kissed him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This is a Rescue

FN2187 was not accustomed to making rash decisions. The First Order discouraged them to an extreme; each move was calculated, thorough, and completed without error. When he walked into the room where the Resistance fighter was being held, he was shocked that the shaking of his hands was not noticed by his fellow trooper. He swallowed. Exhaled. “Ren wants the prisoner.” Sweat dripped down his spine. He could feel the path it followed—straight down his neck, sticking as his uniform constricted around his torso.

There was no hesitation in the other trooper's movements. She was obedient. A hushed sigh of relief escaped FN2187's lungs when the restraints were released. 

The pilot swayed as he was forced to stand, knees buckling. When FN2187 gripped his elbow, he stared at the other soldier, willing her to believe the contact was more for convenience than to support the Resistance fighter. He nodded once, slowly, and she nodded back with the usual military stiffness. A lump forced its way to FN's throat, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than remove his helmet. But he could not risk another evaluation so soon.

The cameras seemed to all be pointed on the pair--the stormtrooper and the rebel--as they exited the room. Each soldier they passed on the way seemed to whisper insults; _traitor_ spread on his behind his eyelids as clear as the blood of his fallen comrade. FN2187 tried to keep his steps uniform, inconspicuous. Even then, the captive struggled to keep pace with FN2187. He practically dragged beside him, eyes unfocused and body limp. Pushing the pilot down the corridor became the best solution. But when the prisoner flinched with each step, FN2187 realized he needed to act quickly or face a dead pilot—which meant Ren’s wrath and no way out.

FN2187 scanned the halls for patrol squadrons. An open door presented itself, and he shoved Dameron inside, barking orders that were usually directed at him. The other man raised his eyebrows. His eyes narrowed, tacitly observing FN2187 and running through possible outcomes.possible escape attempts. The look of pure shock on Dameron’s face when FN2187 removed his helmet alerted him that that was not one of the scenarios he’d considered. “This is a rescue.”

Their eyes met, and an unfamiliar jolt shot through FN2187’s stomach. “Are you with the Resistance?” The incredulity was clear, and he seemed unsurprised when the stormtrooper answered in the negative. Dried blood painted dark streaks under Dameron’s tired brown eyes, blinking slowly as he acclimated to the dull throbs of residual pain. When he spoke again, his voice was still hoarse. “Why are you helping me?”

FN2187, chest heaving, settled himself by grabbing the pilot’s arm. “Because it’s the right thing to do.” Dameron considered this, and then a sly grin stretched over his face. FN2187 was amazed that the man was still able to smile after what Ren had done to him. The feeling was intoxicating, and it forced his lips to curve despite his nerves.

“You need a pilot.”

“…I need a pilot.”

They both chuckled, bodies vibrating with nervous energy. Machines whirred around them, clicking in time with FN2187’s heartbeat. Too fast. Watching a monitor beyond the pilot’s shoulder, he attempted to focus on the steady pulse of the screen lights. He inhaled—and then lips were on his and there was a hand on his chin and the warmest breath fell against his face. When Dameron pulled away, a murmured “Thanks” was the only explanation. And then he was glancing down the hall, waiting for direction, tactful and composed. Nonchalant. Watching the pilot’s back, FN2187 licked his lips, the taste of blood and sweat strong. He felt feverish, distracted. Nothing that had been covered in his training would help him now; every high mark and praise from Phasma could not compare to this simple gratitude from a rebel pilot. FN traced the strong lines of Dameron’s shoulders with his eyes. They were relaxed, and FN2187 realized the kiss was likely a natural response to kindness. Acquainted with the lack of generosity in the First Order, FN2187 attributed it to adrenaline and pulled his restrictive helmet back on. The world suddenly felt much darker, so he looked at the pilot and and used him as his light. He squared his shoulders and breathed and nodded to Dameron.

“Time to go.”


	2. Jakku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're completely obsessed with the pairing, so the fic will be complete sooner than we thought. Expect the final chapter up tomorrow. And while you wait, feel free to head to our ask box at daughtersofthanos.tumblr.com for fic requests!

“Stay calm, stay calm.”

“I am calm.” Dameron whispered this as they clung together, surrounded by officers and soldiers of the First Order.

FN was glad his helmet covered his blush when he told the pilot, “I was talking to myself.”

FN2187 glanced at his fellow cadets, at the men and women who had become his brothers and sisters--the ones who called him Eight-Seven and eyed him for a high-ranking position--and he pitied them. Sliding his hand over the pilot’s wrist, he guided him to the docking bay, pace quickening. His eyes scanned the ships available and then he jerked the pilot to the side, leading him to a column of TIE fighters. FN2187 felt a deep cold settle in his veins once they entered the small ship. These were instruments of death, just as he was meant to be.

“You ever fly one of these?” FN shouted over the engine, swallowing down any lingering uncertainty.

“I can fly anything.” Dameron was cocksure, eyes wide and fingers dancing across the controls. FN2187 was not. His organs felt like melting ice, sloshing around his body and making him nauseous. It was worse than the fear. This was something more, something tangible. The feeling of the inevitable _what comes next?_ But then the pilot was talking to him, his voice catching happily after he exhaled an awed gasp. “I’ve always wanted to fly one of these."

FN2187 did not agree. They were cramped and dark, filled to the brim with buttons that blinked furiously and begged to shoot, to kill. He looked to the controls, furrowed his eyebrows, and mouthed _what_ into the tight space. Dameron was just one oddity after another.

After another round of absolute panic on FN's part and nervous glee on the pilot's, they plunged into space. FN2187 had never imagined getting so far. Every step they took had been accompanied by the certainty that it was their last, and when the TIE fighter was hanging onto the hanger and they were stuck, he could feel the wrath of his superiors in his bones. But then they made it out, by some miracle or by Dameron's skill FN could not be certain. The stars welcomed them into their abyss. Their light and the rebel's laugh were the closest FN had ever felt to what he imagined a home to be.

“Hey, what's your name?” The question cut into FN2187’s shock after they successfully shot down First Order cannons. Still reeling from the adrenaline and disbelief, he laughed, the cold burning out of his system with each word from the pilot. A smile played on his features despite the absence of an assurance that they would get out alive, and he introduced himself, spouting off the numbers and letters he had memorized before he could even remember knowing how to talk.

“F--What?” Poe sputtered. FN2187 did not understand the anger he could feel flowing from the pilot.

Smoothly, and a little self-consciously, he replied, “That’s the only name they ever gave me.”

“Well, I ain't using it! FN, huh? Finn. I’m going to call you Finn. Is that alright?”

A tightness emerged in Finn’s throat. His emphatic “Yeah!” surprised him; he did not think he would be able to talk when he was so overwhelmed with Dameron's compassion. He felt lightheaded, a little dizzy. A Resistance fighter he met minutes ago had kissed and named him. If this was the life of a traitor, Finn was looking forward to it.

"I'm Poe. Poe Dameron."

The pair worked expertly together. Poe was one hell of a pilot--Finn felt at ease in the TIE fighter and took to the weapons easily. He knew where to shoot before Poe even asked, and soon they were nearly out of range of the First Order and all of its oppression. Finn huffed in relief. Space; an entire galaxy, stretched in front of him, planet after planet beckoning, and yet-- “ _Jakku_!? Why are we going back to Jakku?” Droid, BB-8 unit, orange and white, map, Luke Skywalker. Poe’s explanation gave Finn a headache. He just wanted to be gone. Far, far away from the people that had stolen him from his family, had trained him to be a monster.

“You have _got_ to be kidding--!” Finn wasn’t allowed the opportunity to finish. The fighter whirled with a precise shot from the last enemy pursuer, warning lights flashing across the screen. Alarms blared. “What do we do? What do we do?” Finn yelled over the roar of system failure notifications. Poe said nothing. Finn shouted his name, heartbeat faster than it had been on his first mission. The memory of FN-2003’s bloodied body below him brought fresh waves of rage. And it was worse, knowing they would still win.

“Stay calm,” came a voice beside him. Poe had unbuckled himself and climbed to the gunner’s side. Finn stared, eyes wide and breath coming quick. Poe shrugged. A wry grin appeared on his beautiful--Finn wondered when he started thinking of the pilot as beautiful--face. “I lost the controls anyway.”

Finn felt something buckle across his chest and heard a soft beep. When he looked at his screen, the ‘eject now’ symbol was bright. Waiting. He glanced back at Poe. Poe, with his deep brown eyes still highlighted by the blood under them; Poe with his maddeningly calm gaze and chapped lips. Poe, who kissed Finn without a second thought, chaste but with so much passion it stole Finn’s breath.

Then Finn was flying from the TIE fighter, lungs and stomach screaming as he fell into the scorching sands of Jakku. And Poe was gone.


	3. One Hell of a Pilot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of your encouragement and comments so far are much appreciated!

Finn could have kissed the ground when they finally landed on it, the Falcon doors opening and allowing him to sprint out onto the green grass of a real Rebel base. After so much indecision, so much self-loathing and questioning, he had finally made it where he belonged. The whole place was incredible--stretching as far as he could see, throngs of people moving to welcome the fighters and assist the injured, officers flagging down the X-Wings into proper landing positions. Despite the melancholy and misery tinting lingering from the battle and the weapon test, his heart was full of glorious, fiery wonder.

“Rey! You have to see this!” he yelled, and then he remembered. The image of that villain carrying Rey in his arms caught his heart and picked it apart. Despair ran through him, and he frowned. BB-8 beeped at his feet, reminding him that he had duties to complete if he wanted to rescue his friend. He searched the hundreds of faces for someone with authority, someone he could convince to take the First Order head on.

Instead, a certain X-Wing caught his attention. He wasn’t quite sure what drew him to it, or what kept him frozen in place, watching the pilot climb easily down the ladder and laugh at a joke from the stationed officer. But then he pulled off his helmet, and dark curls fell over dark eyes, and Finn gasped. BB-8 was already ahead of him. The little droid zoomed toward its owner, beeping excitedly. Finn heard Poe yell, “BB-8, my buddy!” Finn saw him squat next to the droid, inquiring what happy circumstances had reunited them. 

“Saved you? Finn?” Something in the way Poe said his name made his stomach lurch and mouth go dry. Poe looked at him, a smile breaking over his tan face, almost making Finn forget the small scratch near his eye, a reminder of a harrowing past; but also a meeting he never wanted to forget. Without thinking, Finn broke into a run, and Poe followed suit. They met in the middle of the grey platform, breathless but bursting with energy and words.

“I thought you, you--” _You were gone, you were never coming back, you had died for me._

“I was thrown from the crash, I woke up at night…” _And I found you again._

They talked over each other, growing louder with each sentence. Finn clasped his sweaty palms together as he stared at the way Poe’s teeth and lips formed each syllable. He was sure his face was completely dumbstruck, while the pilot’s was overtaken by a handsome smile and eyes as bright as the stars. Finn could hardly believe that look was for him.

“Hey, that's my jacket,” Poe said, finally prying his eyes from Finn’s.

Finn went to remove it, embarrassed. “Oh, here.” But Poe was already waving away the suggestion.

“No, keep it. It suits you.” Poe bit his lip, enjoying the view.

Finn would have thanked him profusely--that was his plan, even--had Poe’s lips not suddenly crushed over his own. It was so shocking, the whole affair, what with Poe being dead and then alive and then kissing him with lips that were supposed to have drowned in the sands of Jakku, that Finn could barely react. BB-8 whirred gleefully at their feet.

Poe backed away too soon. One step away, and it was too much. Finn had never wanted someone to be as close to him as he wanted Poe right then. “I have to introduce you to someone. She can get us to Rey,” he assured Finn. He turned to lead him inside and BB-8 whirred excitedly from below. Once again, he seemed almost unaffected by their kiss, as if simply kissed every stormtrooper who happened to rescue him, lose him, rescue his droid, find him. Or maybe because they fit so well together, it felt so natural. Finn remained optimistic for the latter option. Besides, what did he know of love? He would let Poe teach him.

As he followed Poe inside the base, he found himself memorizing the lines of his body. Even in the puffy orange uniform, he could see the shape of him, his curves and angles and everything Finn had never noticed in another person, not the way he did now. Next time, he promised himself, he would kiss Poe back.


	4. He Suits You

The Resistance recovering from a battle was nothing like the First Order’s usual routine. As a stormtrooper, Finn would have been evaluated, conditioned, controlled. The Order would have incinerated his fallen comrades or left them behind to rot, and Finn would be expected to carry on as usual, only the memory of blood stained fingers on his helmet to remind him of that burning village. To the Order, FN2187 was a pawn. As a Resistance fighter, however, Finn was greeted as a hero. He could barely take a step through the wide corridors of the base without being congratulated, thanked, or pulled aside for a handshake or hug.

Similarities between the two began there; Finn was entirely overwhelmed. He could not deny that he enjoyed being celebrated, but after a life of subordination, it was an entirely distant concept, once that left his head reeling and palms sweating. So after five hallways of greetings, he started checking for other lifeforms before he chose his path. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, just the idea of _away. Away_ turned out to be the center of a corridor at the far end of the base, down a few levels and devoid of any windows that were not simply projecting images of the outside world.

That was where Poe found him; face against the cool glass, eyes closed, breathing evenly in the empty hall. Poe smiled, his stomach clenching pleasantly as he made his way toward his unlikely savior. He moved silently out of habit, and Finn didn’t  notice him until he murmured his name.

“Mmm?” Finn asked, and turned. He blushed when he recognized Poe. “Oh, I was just, uh…”

“Hey, I get it, the quiet after the storm and all that. It’s just funny you found your way down here.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, my room is a couple a’ feet to your left.” Poe jerked his chin in the direction of a grey door, so similar in color to the walls that Finn had initially failed to notice it. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me.” The pilot bit his lip and smirked as Finn attempted to explain his accidental discovery, fumbling over every word as he stared at Poe. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll show you around.”

Finn’s mouth snapped shut in the middle of a word, and he nodded enthusiastically before choosing a smoother response and scratching the back of his neck as he replied, “Sure, if you want.”

Poe suppressed a chuckle as he motioned for him to follow. A quick swipe of his keycard gained the pair access, and as they stepped inside, the lights flickered on. It was well-sized, split into three parts: a kitchen--a collection of counters and a single table and chair--a living room--one modest couch and a screen in the wall--and a bedroom--a bed, side table, and large chest. Besides the door to the hall, there were two others that Finn assumed led to a closet and a bathroom. The walls were bare, the mark of a man who spent more time in the sky than on the ground. Finn noted this all with curiosity, longing for more insight, and only startled out of his observations when Poe tossed his helmet on the couch and exhaled loudly.

“This is me,” he announced, releasing the laugh he had been holding. “Not much, but...:”

“You travel a lot.”

Poe cocked his head and smiled, his gaze settling right on Finn’s face. “Yeah. Exactly.”

The pilot unbuckled his his equipment, pacing habitually over to the closet and hanging each piece methodically. Finn busied himself with a glass of water when Poe invited him to help himself, and he did his best to not look over his shoulder as Poe donned civilian clothes rather than his uniform.

When Finn heard the closet close, he reminded Poe, “You’ll probably need that soon, when we go get Rey.”

“I’ve learned to get it on pretty fast. You never know when the next crisis might be.”

Finn scrutinized the white counter-tops as Poe approached him, gaze anywhere but on the pilot. The hard surface was spotless, barren. His pulse jumped once and then settled.

“Hey.”

Finn turned. Poe wore black pants and a maroon tee, so  much darker than that orange jumpsuit, and he had mischief in his eyes.

“About my jacket…” he started, stepping close enough that their toes touched. His fingers slid beneath the jacket's collar, rubbing the leather.

“I thought you said I could keep it,” Finn protested, an incredulous squeak in his voice.

“You can.”

“Then...What…”

Poe quirked his eyebrow, pulling at the hem of his shirt to expose a line of dark hair.

“O-oh,” Finn whispered, suddenly parched.

“Oh,” Poe repeated, and pushed his hand back until the jacket fell to the floor.

Suddenly Poe was shirtless, and Finn thought he had missed a few moments there between when his heart was pounding and when it wasn’t. The pilot grabbed Finn’s hips and gently backed him up against the counter. “I never thanked you properly for that rescue,” he purred. When his body pressed even closer, Finn felt dizzy.

Finn argued, “I left you on Jakku,” mentally chastising himself as soon as the words came out.

“And yet, here I am. Can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I would never try.”

Poe laughed again--Finn thought it was one of the  most mesmerizing sounds he had ever heard--and then he kissed Finn. Finn couldn’t react, he couldn’t kiss back, not when his whole body was numb and tingling and he was paralyzed by the feeling of Poe’s mouth. It felt like he was burning, heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. Poe kissed him slowly, every inch of his lips touching every inch of Finn’s. When he pulled away, he caught Finn’s lower lip in his teeth, tugging slightly before releasing him.

Finn hadn’t realized he was holding his breath; he sucked in air rapidly and stared, elated and dumbfounded. Looking at Poe, he expected his pupils were just as blown.

“So… thank you,” Poe said breathlessly, eyes bright.

A knock on the door reminded them of the world outside that room. "Commander Dameron, General Organa has requested your presence at the meeting.”

Poe sighed, a long release of air that ghosted over Finn and made his heart flutter. “I’ll be right there,” he shouted, and the sufficient answer sent the messenger away.

Poe stifled a groan. Frowning slightly, he leaned his forehead against Finn’s, his mind filled with fantasies from the moments they had just lost. “Later,” he said on a breath. When his hands left Finn’s hips, Finn felt as if an essential part of himself had just been pried away.

Finn touched his lips, still wet from Poe’s mouth. This time, he didn’t look away while Poe changed, despite the furious blush creeping onto his skin. _Later._ The word hung between them as a promise.

_Later._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my favorite chapter to write. Perhaps that is apparent! -13thDoctor


	5. Heartbeat

When Poe Dameron saw the Millennium Falcon fly from that crumbling planet, his heart sped into a frenzy, and then it nearly stopped beating. He cursed himself for thinking it, but he had never been certain they would make it off the First Order base alive. But he _knew_ Finn was on that ship. He _knew_ he was whole and breathing, and that knowledge constricted his chest and then punched his heart into a staccato rhythm once more. When he cheered for the heroes on that ship, his voice cracked. He didn't care if his squadron has noticed.

As they went to light speed, two images kept replaying in his mind; plans or premonitions, he couldn’t tell. One- landing his X-Wing, springing to Finn as he descends the landing ramp of the Falcon, and taking him in his arms and kissing him in front of everyone. Two- well, that would be for later, and definitely not in front of everyone. The thought brought heat to his face and he smirked, wondering about Finn’s reaction.

“Coming out of light speed. We’re home, everyone.”

A chorus of cheers sounded over the coms. “Roger that, Black Leader!”

Poe watched out his windows as various X-Wings came back into view, slowed down from their journey through hyperspace. Some did victory flips, but his eyes were only on the Millennium Falcon as it hurriedly and carefully made its way to the planet surface. He flipped a few switches and sped ahead of the other Black Squadron ships, bile in his throat as he considered the options. The Falcon hadn’t communicated with them since departure. Poe knew, of course, that there were no First Order troops on the old rust bucket; he discarded that theory immediately. Yet something was keeping them silent and solemn. Their mission was not complete. Poe had felt that same quiet purpose when his parents discussed their own losses during the first rebellion.

Someone was dead, or someone was wounded, or both. Breathing deeply, he gripped the dashboard until he knew his knuckles were white under his gloves. He grimaced, flew back into formation with his fellow soldiers, and led them to the landing platform with his heart in his throat. The X-Wings landed in perfect formation, guided by smiling flight operatives. They waved them in, and to Poe, the descent was painstakingly slow. Each passing moment without seeing Finn was agony. As soon as he was cleared for exit, he opened the cockpit, checked quickly on BB-8, and leapt from his seat. And then he ran.

The Falcon was already down, and throngs of people were crowded around the heroes, clamoring for a peek and asking for details. Poe felt sick as he shuffled about, yelling to be let through. The celebrators moved for the Commander, and what he saw set his whole body on edge. An emergency medical team was carefully extracting Finn from Chewbacca’s arms when he arrived. They placed him on a hovering stretcher as Poe approached, chest heaving as he searched Finn’s face for signs of life. He glanced at Rey, whose face was a layered mask of concern and mourning. She nodded to him and turned toward General Organa. Only then did Poe register the absence of Captain Solo.

“We have a heartbeat,” one of the team’s droids informed the other doctors, and they were off to the medical bay, Poe right on their tails. His mind was racing.

Close to the end of the runway, they stopped, waiting for the elevator so as to keep Finn’s fragile body off of the stairs. The team seemed to take no issue in his presence. So he could take a chance on his next move, safety protocols be damned. Shaking, he leaned over the unconscious resistance fighter, the stormtrooper-turned-hero of the galaxy, and kissed him. His lips lingered, willing him awake. He closed his eyes eyes, breathing in his scent, soaking in every detail in case this was their last kiss; he had envisioned so many more, the galaxy couldn’t be cruel enough to cut their time so short.

“Captain, the elevator is here. I have to ask you to step back now.”

Poe squeezed Finn’s hand and did as the doctor requested. “Can I come with you?” he asked.

The closest nurse nodded and gripped his arm reassuringly. “Of course you may. But you must understand that it may be harder that way, if we lose him.”

Poe shook his head. “You won’t.”

“Affirmative, Commander.” The nurse pressed a beeping metal instrument to the inside of Finn’s wrist. “Doctor, that pulse is weakening.”

“Let’s move.”


	6. I'll Give You Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! Thank you, dearest readers, for your continued support! Happy Holidays!

The forty-eight hours after the attack on Starkiller Base became a time of celebration and anticipation. Drinks were passed, in mourning and hope alike. Systems across the galaxy were contacted, and the cheers that erupted over even the most deficient transmissions were loud enough to be heard outside of the control room. Hope glimmered with every mention of Rey, every murmur of the name _Luke Skywalker_. Resistance fighters erected a bonfire on the runway and reveled in the victory.

To many, however, the event felt more like a defeat. Funerals were held for the destroyed cities, Han Solo, and the lost pilots. Poe Dameron did not remain to discuss the next steps; to listen to tales of the Jedi and the rumors that the Force was awakening once more. He had one last mission to perform. After the services for his fellow pilots, Poe Dameron had become a whispered name in the hall. _Has he left the medical bay yet? How long since he has eaten?_ General Organa gave up asking him to get some sleep. As long as Finn’s eyes stayed closed, Poe’s remained wide open.

A hand pulled at his shoulder tentatively. The medical droid told Poe for the hundredth time that Finn would be fine; that he was stable and breathing and recovering. Waving it away, Poe accepted a water bottle to slow the cracking of his lips and ease the burning in his throat. His fingers were wrapped in Finn’s, and he brushed them against his cheek aimlessly, holding onto the warmth. Eventually he ate something, only so that he would not pass out and miss Finn waking. Red eyes, stubble-covered face. Poe developed a headache so severe the staff was forced to provide an IV drip. The wounds he had sustained from the battle were superficial, but his body was fighting exhaustion with muscle spasms and prickling skin. The few pilots that remained, especially his own Squadron, begged him to sleep. After three days, he became irritable and brushed them aside. “He saved my life,” Poe reminded them. The memory of Finn’s eyes--the first eyes Poe saw after Ren had tortured him--was indelible.

Thirty-seven hours, thirty-eight, and--

“Poe?” A voice hoarse from disuse interrupted the gentle beeping of medical machinery. Poe almost considered it a hallucination. Finn’s hand was trapped in his own, pressed into his chest as slumped in the chair.

Poe blinked slowly and mouthed Finn’s name into the air. His chest heaved, and a sound almost like a laugh burst from his lungs. He kissed Finn’s fingertips reverently, tears bright in his eyes. “Look at you--”

 “Look at _you_! Have you slept?” Finn pulled his hand from Poe’s grip and used his thumb to trace the bags under the pilot's eyes. Raised on one elbow, he pulled Poe closer, a smile playing on his lips. “You’re wearing my jacket,” he whispered.

Poe raised an eyebrow and finally let himself laugh. “Oh, _your_ jacket, right.”  Since Finn had been wrapped in sterile, Resistance-issued medical whites, his other items had been cut or discarded. Thankfully, Poe had been present to rescue his jacket, despite the droid’s arguments that the burn was beyond repair. He countered that it gave it some character.

Finn wrapped his free hand around the collar and pulled Poe to him. “I thought you said I could keep it,” he repeated, a rouguish grin spreading over his face.

“I did.” Poe realized how close they were when he could feel Finn’s breath across his lips. Eyes half-lidded, he leaned into the warmth, breath catching in his throat. The pain in Finn’s shoulder seemed inconsequential; he shifted nearer until their lips finally met.

Poe thought maybe being kissed by Finn was even better than being the one to kiss him. He was inexperienced, but their mouths slid together easily. A numbness spread around Poe’s body, and he gasped when Finn pushed their tongues together. Sliding next to Finn, Poe grasped his uninjured shoulder and pressed their chests together until the kiss really was a breath. Inhale, exhale. He could feel each spark of his pulse, the strain in his lungs. The warmth from Finn’s body and the promise of never letting go again. When they reluctantly separated, Finn was panting. A bead of sweat ran down his face. Poe could see his right arm trembling with the effort to stay raised. Anger swelled in his stomach; if he had been on the surface with Finn, he was not sure he would have left Kylo Ren alive.

“Hey,” Finn breathed, brushing a stray strand of hair from Poe’s face. “There was nothing you could have done.”

Poe turned his face into the Finn’s palm and kissed it, eyes never breaking contact. “Let’s not talk about that,” he responded.

Finn nodded and laid flat again, clutching his shoulder gently with one hand while tugging at Poe gently to follow. He did, wrapping one arm around Finn’s abdomen and settling his head against his chest.

“Get some sleep, will you?” Finn asked. He kissed Poe’s forehead gently. He was already drifting; his eyes were closed tightly, his breathing shallow, dark curls falling into his weary face. It took only moments for him to fall asleep.

Finn brushed through Poe’s hair as he stared at the ceiling. He thought about Rey; about her meeting Skywalker and changing the galaxy. He thought about General Organa, torn apart but raising her head high. And he thought about Poe; Poe Dameron, with his ridiculous smile and beautiful laugh and pilot’s hands. Poe Dameron, who was his.

**Author's Note:**

> Was anyone else just blown away how much Abrams set up this romance? The dialogue, the cinematography... We cannot wait for the next two Episodes. As long-time Star Wars fans, it will be amazing to see the continued push for the racial, sexual, and romantic diversity already prevalent in Episode VII. Thank you for reading!


End file.
